


Can't Fix What Ain't Broke

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Post - Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:59:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve asks Tony to look after Bucky for a few days. Because, yeah, there’s no way <em>that</em> plan could go wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Fix What Ain't Broke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tumblr user Worriedducks](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Tumblr+user+Worriedducks).



> Birthday gift to the wonderful [Trina](http://worriedducks.tumblr.com)!
> 
> My first Marvel fic, so be gentle.
> 
> Could be read with implied Steve/Tony and/or Steve/Bucky, but it's nothing really explicitly stated.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: I own none of the source material and all of the typos. Constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated!

Tony had been trying to get Steve to move into the Avengers Tower — formerly Stark Tower, but after the events in New York, well… — since Hydra had been exposed. It wasn’t just for Steve’s safety — though Nick Fury was literally shot in the guy’s apartment, for christ’s sake — or because Steve still preferred Brooklyn which was…well,  _Brooklyn_ , Tony got a shiver down his back even  _thinking_  about it — but because there was a part of Tony’s mind that hadn’t slept since hearing what had happened. A part that would only be quieted if he knew, for sure, that Steve was safe.

And the only way to know something like that would be to know that Tony’s own inventions were keeping him safe.

But Steve had refused, in his most Steve-like fashion, ever polite and with that charming grin that left even Tony speechless to try to combat it with, you know, logic. Or something. Anything that could win in a fight against that chiseled jaw and winning smile. Which was apparently nothing.

And then, when Tony had given up the battle as lost, because not even Tony Stark’s patented sarcasm (and, ok, yeah, he had actually tried to patent it once, whatever), Steve had showed up at the Avengers Tower…with a former Hydra agent in tow. “Can Bucky stay here awhile?” Steve asked, in lieu of a greeting.

Tony eyed the man standing behind Steve, staring at him sullenly from underneath his hoodie, pulled low over his eyes. “Bucky, like the Hydra supersoldier who tried to kill you, Bucky?”

It didn’t make a damn bit of difference to Tony that Bucky had been Steve’s best friend — it didn’t even matter that Bucky had pulled Steve out of the water and dragged him to safety. What mattered was that Bucky had  _hurt_ Steve, in more ways than one. And for his  _many_  virtues, forgive and forget did not necessarily rank highly with Tony.

Steve, however, did not seem concerned, and in fact raised an eyebrow at Tony. “Yes,” he said, in a warning tone. “He needs a place to stay for awhile as he tries to get his feet back under him.”

"Uh-huh," Tony said skeptically, reluctantly stepping backwards to allow Steve and Bucky into the room, where both Clint and Natasha were hanging out in between missions, both looking over, Clint with vague interest, Natasha warily. "And Avengers Tower was your first choice…why?"

Steve smiled at Natasha before telling Tony, a little gruffly, “I have a mission that I need to go on. Where else was I supposed to take him?”

“This is the Avengers Tower,” Tony said, trying not to yelp or sound petulant, though judging by the raised eyebrow Clint shot his way, he had not succeeded, “not a home for former-traitors-turned-lost-puppy-dogs!”

“No, just former-traitors-turned-super-agents,” Natasha called from the couch.

Tony shot her a withering glare and muttered, “Not helping.” He turned back to Steve, who was frowning, his jaw jutting  _just so_  in that way that said he had made up his mind, regardless of what else happened. “Do you really think that I’m the best person to look after him?”

Steve shrugged. “Honestly, you’re the  _only_  person to look after him who’s got room.” He lowered his voice. “Please, Tony. I trust you with this.”

If nothing else, Steve saying that he trusted him was enough for Tony, and after he pulled himself together enough, he sighed heavily and Steve grinned, recognizing defeat. “Fine,” he said. “But he better be housebroken.”

Bucky snorted at that, the first noise he had made, but Steve beamed at Tony and told him earnestly, “Thanks Tony!”

Steve pulled Bucky aside to whisper a few words to him, then clapped Tony on the shoulder and left, evidently to help an old lady across the street, or whatever it was Captain America did to uphold liberty and justice. Natasha, meanwhile, tapped Clint on the back and jerked her chin towards the far door, slipping out before Tony could beg for some help.

Which left Tony alone with Bucky. The two looked at each other carefully, sizing each other up. Finally, Tony asked, “How do you feel about Disney movies?”

Bucky shrugged, which Tony took as permission to continue. “Alright, tiger,” he said, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. “We’ll start with the Lion King and go from there.”

* * *

 

What had started as a panicked attempt to find something for them to do — because seriously, what  _does_  one do with a former assassin? — turned into a routine. Tony got Bucky settled into one of the guest rooms, and for the next few days, they watched movies, always Tony’s pick.

Bucky, for his part, was remarkably well behaved, if also remarkably silent. During the day, he stuck to Tony’s side like an ill-tempered shadow; at night, he stayed in his room. Tony did everything he could to keep Bucky entertained, which normally amounted to keeping up a stream of running commentary during the movies while Bucky just stared at him (or more likely, the TV).

Tony didn’t know what to make of him.

In truth, Tony was normally an extroverted person, ready and willing to talk to just about anyone, even if most of the talking came in the form of snarky comments. But talking to Bucky was like talking to a brick wall, and Tony…well, Tony had never been one to handle anything or anyone with kid gloves.

So on the fourth day, when he had exhausted his repertoire of go-to movies (Disney, Star Wars, Indiana Jones, James Bond), he finally told Bucky as he came out of his room in the morning, “I have to go to my workshop to work on some stuff.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected, for Bucky to go back into his room or go to the living room or, hell, show emotion like a normal human being and fuck shit up or whatever it was brainwashed supersoldiers did. Instead, Bucky asked in a quiet voice, “Can I come with you?”

It was the first thing Bucky had said the entire time he’d been there, and Tony was so taken aback he almost forgot to respond. “Um, sure,” he said. “It’s probably going to be really boring and I have a tendency to mutter to myself, which I guess isn’t really any different than normal…Come on.”

He led Bucky to his workshop, indicating where he could sit down as he sat as his desk, pulling up his latest project, which really wasn’t anything more than tinkering with the latest Iron Man mark. Bucky watched him silently, which Tony had really come to expect, but then, to his surprise, Bucky spoke up.

“Steve — Rogers — Captain America —” Bucky stuttered, clearly trying to figure out which name sounded best. He settled for saying, “ _He_  said that you fix things.”

Tony considered that for a moment, keeping his eyes on the 3D blueprint in front of him. “I mean, I’m no Bob the Builder,” he started, then realized that Bucky would most likely not get that reference. “Which is to say, I don’t know much about what science was like back in the thirties compared to now—” a lie, but whatever “—but yeah, it’s not wrong to say that I fix things.”

Bucky was silent for a long moment before he asked, his voice quiet, “Can you fix me?”

Though Tony’s initial reaction was to blurt ‘no, of course not’, he paused, examining Bucky closely, seeing the way that Bucky’s shoulders tensed and his hands had curled into fists against his thighs, waiting for what answer Tony would give him. After a long moment, Tony said slowly, “No, I can’t, because you’re not broken.”

Whatever answer Bucky had expected, that was clearly not it, and his eyes flashed up to Tony’s before flitting away again. “Of course I’m broken,” he said, bitterness creeping into his tone. “I don’t even remember who I am, or who  _he_  is.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re broken, though,” Tony said easily. “Just means you’re human. We’ve all got problems — hell, have you talked to Natasha pretty much ever? But living with those problems doesn’t make us run down or broken. And they’re not just things that can be fixed.”

Though Bucky nodded slowly, he didn’t look fully satisfied with that answer, and Tony blurted, “Now, your arm, on the other hand — that I may be able to do something about.”

Bucky looked up at him, startled. “My arm?”

“It does things without you meaning to sometimes, right?” Bucky nodded, still wary, and Tony explained, “I’ve been working on something for Bruce — Dr. Banner. A mechanism to help him when he’s…well, not himself. It helps him control his actions by allowing the parts of his mind that are himself to assert what he would or would not do. Basically, it slows his reaction time to allow his ‘normal’ brain to process before snapping. We could apply a similar mechanism to your arm.”

“What would be the benefit of that?” Bucky asked, a little defiantly.

Tony shrugged. “You wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally hurting someone because they brushed against you on a crowded sidewalk. Or you wouldn’t have to worry about it purposefully trying to hurt someone that you know to be friend but the arm…doesn’t quite recognize that way. At the very least, it might offer you some more control, which I imagine you could use right about now.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I…I think I’d like that.” He bit his lip before blurting, a little desperately, “You really don’t think I’m broken?”

“I suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Tony said patiently. “I had an arc reactor embedded in my chest to keep shrapnel from reaching my heart and killing me. I…occasionally get outrageously drunk and have on occasion hurt people while drunk. I’ve had a mental breakdown and had my suit taken away from me. And, oh yeah, I kind of helped blow up a significant portion of Manhattan.” He paused, considering if there was more he should add, things that happened with Pepper, or with Steve, and decided against it. “I haven’t broken from any of that. The only way you would be broken is if you refused to pick yourself up and keep going. And the fact that you’re sitting here right now and talking to me about this tells me that you’re not broken.”

Bucky was silent for a long moment. “I just want to feel normal again,” he confessed quietly. “Whole.”

Tony half-smiled. “Ah. Well. That’s a different issue. Sometimes normal…well, sometimes you have to find a new normal.”

“And what about…relationships?” Bucky asked. “What if…what if things have changed beyond repair?”

Tony shrugged. “The human race has a remarkable ability to adapt. And that includes adapting to, say, finding out your former best friend is a Soviet supersoldier meant to kill you. Just as an example. But relationships will come back in time, whether friendships or…more than that. I mean, look at me. I’ve slept with a lot of women.” He paused before adding, “And men.”

Something close to apprehension flashed across Bucky’s face, and he stammered, “I, uh, I—”

Snorting, Tony smirked at him. “Relax, Gramps, I’m not hitting on you. But just as much as you have changed, times have changed. And any feelings you may or may not have in that regard, well, they don’t make you broken, either.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before Tony cleared his throat. “So how about I take a look at your arm?”

* * *

 

A few days later, Steve came back, looking exhausted. “Sorry,” he told Tony when he was let in the door. “I didn’t realize the mission was going to take that long. I hope nothing too bad happened—”

He broke off, looking over Tony’s shoulder at where Bucky sat, dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, watching cartoons on TV and actually smiling. Steve’s mouth fell open, and Bucky glanced over at him, hesitating before raising his arm to give Steve a little wave. Steve looked back at Tony. “What did you do?” he asked.

Tony shrugged. “We talked. We watched movies. I tinkered with his arm which…didn’t do much good, but we’re working on it.”

“But he looks happier than I’ve seen him in…well, ever since I found out he was alive again,” Steve said, lowering his voice to a whisper, despite the fact that Bucky could most likely hear him (stupid supersoldiers and their super abilities).

Shrugging again, Tony looked over at Bucky, an odd expression on his face. “Sometimes…sometimes someone just needs to know that they’re not alone. And that they’re not broken.” He glanced back at Steve, who was looking at him with a curious expression, and shook his head. “But that’s not the point. For now, why don’t you watch some cartoons like I know the dork in you is  _dying_  to do, and I’ll have JARVIS pop some popcorn or something.”

Though Steve nodded, his expression distant, he reached out to squeeze Tony’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I just…Thank you.”

“Don’t go getting all emotional on me,” Tony warned him, but it was with a small, genuine smile, not a trace of sarcasm in his voice or his expression, and when he followed Steve over to the couch, where Bucky actually smiled at Steve as he sat down next to him, Tony couldn’t help but get a little emotional himself.

He wasn’t used to doing good, but maybe, just maybe, he had done well this time.


End file.
